


The Highwayman

by chiaroscuroxxi



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 07:43:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5777272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiaroscuroxxi/pseuds/chiaroscuroxxi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This work was heavily inspired by the poem by Alfred Noyes "The Highwayman" as well as the musical stylings of Steeleye Span.</p></blockquote>





	The Highwayman

"When I first saw you I thought you were a Lord."

"Nothing so fine my dear," the man with the grey touched temples smiled down at his younger lover. 

"But as rich as any, I'd wager," the younger replied with a cheeky grin, rolling to sit astride the older man's hips. Their spent cocks sliding together sent a tingle down the lad's spine. "Lord Harry," the boy teased. 

Harry laughed softly, captivated by the creature above him. The sun dappled through the broken slats of the barn roof, setting his love's golden hair ablaze and warming the frosted air. The lovebites he had bestowed across strong shoulders and milk white skin paled in comparison to the darker bruises left by a cruel stepfather. 

"Soon I will be," he promised, suddenly fierce in his love for the lad, "And I will take you away from this place and keep you in finery."

The boy laughed but the look in his eye was soft with a glimmer of hope. "Nay," he replied pulling out of Harry's arms, "You'll fine a lass much prettier than me to spend your ill gotten gold on." 

Harry let him go, turning to the business of sorting out his clothes; fawn colored breeches with nary a wrinkle despite their hasty discard earlier, boots up to the thigh, a coat of claret velvet, and lace up to his chin. He finished with a French cocked hat over his mussed and curled locks. 

His lover was swinging a leg over the ladder to exit the loft when Harry catch him with a hand to his chin. "No lasses for me I'm afraid," he declared with a gentle kiss to trembling lips. Harry pulled back to savor the boy blushing so prettily.

"Oh shove off you," he muttered and finished his decent. Harry grinned and followed him down. 

"When will I see you again?"

"Wait for me by the moonlight," Harry said, securing his pistol and rapier and stealing one more kiss before mounting his horse and riding away to the west. 

 

It was nearing midnight when Eggsy heard the tap tap of hoofbeats on the inn's cobblestone courtyard. Knowing his stepfather was abed and drunk besides, he stirred himself from his bed grumbling about lazy and abusive landlords all the while. 

His mood quickly lifted when he heard the whistled tune of his lover. Flicking off the latch of his shutters, he opened them and looked eagerly upon the older man waiting below. 

"One kiss my sweetheart," Harry called, "For I am after a prize tonight." And he rose up in his stirrups, he could scarcely reach his lover's hand. "I shall be back for you and with plenty of gold before the morning's light." 

"You best be keeping your promises Love," Eggsy replied, stretching as far as he dared out of the casement to touch his lover's hand. 

"If they press me sharply and harry me through the day, then look for me by the moonlight. I'll come to you by midnight though hell should bar my way." He tugged his reigns and galloped away to the west. 

 

Eggsy kept watch through the dawning, but his lover did not come. He dragged himself through his morning chores, halfheartedly dodging his stepfather's kicks and responded not to the shouted abuse by landlord and patron of the inn's bar alike. 

Noon came and passed and still Harry did not appear. The dusty road seemed unnaturally still in the afternoon's sun. Eggsy stole constant glances at the peak of the hill as though wishing would make his lover appear. 

It was out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon, when a troop of redcoats came marching to the old inn door. And though the landlord welcomed them jovially in, they said not a word to him. They drank his ale instead. 

"Quick boy, another barrel from the cellar," Eggsy's stepfather hissed at him. He merely grunted in reply, lost in worry for his love. 

"Now boy!" the landlord roared, drawing the attention of King George's men. 

"That's him boys," the corporal said to his men. At once the soldiers sent down their tankards and pushed noisily away from the table. Eggsy tried to run but did not get far. 

They gagged him and bound him to the foot of his narrow bed. Two of them knelt at the casement with muskets at their sides, the others stood in the shadows of the inn - hell at every window. 

"Look at those lips," mused one, "he must suck cock as good as any girl. Shall we give him a go?" He lewdly grabbed at himself. Laughs and jeers filled the room. 

"He is a highwayman's whore," another declared, "A quick death is to good for the both of them."  

"Dirty sodomite," one spat as he bound a musket to Eggsy and afixed it at his chest. "Keep good watch," they laughed.

But as the hours withered away, so did the jokes and threats until there was only alert stillness. And Eggsy was left with a clear view through the casement of the road his lover would ride. 

The moon was shining brightly as he twisted against his bonds, but they were tied too good. Still he twisted his wrists, pain flaring as the rough hemp bit deep into his skin. His palms were slick with sweat and blood but at least the trigger was his.

On the stroke of midnight hoofbeats could be heard in the distance. Eggsy straightened, finger cold on the trigger. Around him the soldiers were stirring and priming their guns. 

Over the hill his love came riding as though the hounds of hell were at his heels. And in the moonlight, Eggsy's face was lit. Nearer he came and nearer and for but a moment their eyes did meet. One last deep breath he drew and his finger moved and shattered his chest in the moonlight. 

Harry's horse startled at the gunshot ringing clear across the moor and his own heart did quicken in his chest. He caught sight of his love drenched in blood even as he wheeled his horse and rode away to the west. 

 

"It was a trick of the moonlight," he declared to his company of thieves, tucked safely away in their encampment. "A smarmy redcoat trembled in his boots and fired too soon." 

"Nay I am afraid not," said the Scotsman, "News has just come that a troop of redcoats sought to trap you at the old inn using the landlord's son as bait. The lad pulled the trigger to the musket pointed at his own chest to warn ye." 

"You lie," Harry accused, all blood drained from his face. 

"I lie not. The landlord's son watched for his love in the moonlight and died in the darkness there." 

Without another word, Harry stood and ran to his horse. Back he spurred like a madman, rapier brandished high, a anguished cry torn from his lips, revenge the only thought on his mind. He crested the hill and the high noon light caught his spurs, turning them a blood red. A red that matched his burnished coat as he thundered down upon the old inn. 

Shots rang out and Harry was thrown from his horse. There he lay on the highway shot down like a dog, blood staining the lace at his chin. 

 

_And still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,_   
_When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,_   
_When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,_   
_A highwayman comes riding—_   
_Riding—riding—_   
_A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door._

**Author's Note:**

> This work was heavily inspired by the poem by Alfred Noyes "The Highwayman" as well as the musical stylings of Steeleye Span.


End file.
